


Hands

by ironfairy



Category: Pentatonix, Scomiche - Fandom, Superfruit
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironfairy/pseuds/ironfairy
Summary: Mitch never understood why his parents always held hands when he was younger.And then, he did.





	Hands

Mitch will never get over the feeling of Scott's hand in his. Such a simple gesture reserved only for the ones you love the dearest. The gentle caress of Scott's fingertips running down Mitch's arm sends shivers down his spine, and swells his heart. When fingers are laced or palms are cupped, Mitch will always have a look of adoration in his eyes. It's a weird sensation to him. A weird concept really. The clutching of hands gives your lover a firm reminder that _yes, I am here_ , or _I want to be touched by you at all times_ , as well as _I want to touch you all the time._

When he was young, Mitch thought holding hands was weird. He knew his Mum wanted to make sure he crossed the road safely by holding his hand, or grabbed it when he stopped when he shouldn't've. When his Dad clutched his Mother's hand he thought it was weird. 'Mum knows how to cross the road, we do it all the time!', he'd thought. He often walked behind them, staring at their hands in confusion, wondering what the hell was happening.

When Mitch was 8, he was sitting alone at lunch, (he often liked it like that) watching boys and girls running around holding hands screaming: 'I'll be the mummy, and you can be the daddy!', because that's what mummies and daddies did. Mitch never understood. He'd never want to hold a girl's hand. Kirstie, maybe, but still, he wouldn't hold her hand.

On the 24th of July 2002, it was Mitch's twelfth birthday. Scott was urgently tugging Mitch to his house, to gift him his birthday present. He grabbed Mitch's hand in a hurry, and despite being dragged along, Mitch appreciated it. He understood. He finally understood after all those years of wondering. He was lucky, he thought, to understand so young, so he held on and he didn't let go for a long time. When a ring was presented to him, Mitch cried, and refused and cried, until Scott physically forced it onto his finger. Mitch never took it off.

High school swept by, and Mitch was always holding Scott's hand. They were both gay, nobody questioned it. Some didn't like it, but they never questioned it. Neither did Scott nor Mitch. But Mitch loved the feeling of Scott's soft, sometimes sweaty, hands. He loved running his fingers over the indents in his skin, so much, that he was familiar with each and every wrinkle that scattered his palms. It became a thing. When Mitch was anxious, he'd take Scott's hand and run his petite fingers over the crescents in his skin, he'd feel out his bones, and massage his muscles. It was a thing. Scott would always sit next to him, wrap an arm around his shoulders, tuck him into his neck, and offer Mitch his free hand.

When Scott got his skull tattoo, the outline of Texas, and the safety pin on his fingers, within the following weeks Mitch already knew where each of his tattoos sat, and what lines were where. He was just fascinated with Scott's hands. And yet, he touched them all the time, the feeling of his fingers laced in Mitch's would never expire. Every touch was the same as when they were twelve years old and pin pricks littered his skin.

Mitch still feels the phantom touches of Scott's hands on his neck, clipping a necklace into place. It had a simple heart shape pendant, that hid perfectly underneath his baggy clothes. Scott would sometimes see the shine of gold under the stage lights, and the shimmer of the silver ring on his finger that had been resized a few times, but other than that, had never left his finger in 10 years.

Before every show, Mitch sat, and traced the lines on Scott's palms, breathing deep, and running through choreo and lyrics in his head. When he missed his ritual, he was a shaky mess on stage. He subtly tumbled, and messes up lines. But he perseveres, and he makes it through. Everyone learnt after a while that what he does to Scott's hands is a mental thing. They even encourage it.

Mitch savoured the moment as the tears streamed down his cheeks, as Scott slid a beautiful diamond ring onto Mitch's left hand as a replacement for the 12 year old ring, a promise of something more than a promise. He memorised the way Scott's fingertips ran down the length of his finger, positioning the ring, and clutching onto his hands. It became a habit. He'd twist and wiggle the ring on his finger as an anxious tendency when Scott's hands weren't available. When they were, he'd clutch onto his hands like a lifeline, and look into his eyes, breathing deep, and losing himself in blue.

Mitch took an awfully long time placing the gold band onto Scott's finger. Everyone knew his obsession with Scott's hands, and this was his day, so no one spoke and he ran both hands down his wrist, resting his hand in his right palm, and reaching down to a young Landon for the infamous gold band. He trailed his fingers over Scott's and placed the band in its rightful position. When Mitch traces his hands from then on, he often found himself twisting Scott's wedding ring, or taking it off, and tracing its rightful indentation on his finger. Looking out to the crowd, his saw his band members, and parents giving him knowing looks.

When the often passing of their child, Rosalie pursued Mitch subconsciously found himself tracing the lines that scattered Scott's skin. His hand was clutched close to his chest on sleepless nights.

When Rosa's first steps were taken, Scott's hand resembled that of a husband's the clutched their wife's as they give birth, Mitch was that excited. The tingles down Mitch's spine continued. His mother describes it as 'honey, that's just your mind, body and soul being in love with Scott'. Mitch couldn't deny the reasoning, but refused to be a victim of his mum's sentimentality.

Mitch tracing Scott's hands were just as calming to Scott as it was to Mitch. When Mitch came home from producer work one day, his job that was offered after Pentatonix disbanded, he heard shouting and doors slamming, and he found Scott balled in the corner of their room crying. He just sat, and clutched his hand, sobs echoing around the room, and he traced the lines that were ingrained into his memory. The older, deeper ones, and the fresh, shallow ones, all the map to Scott's hand. He later sobbed over his first argument with their teenage daughter.

When Rosalie's boyfriend sought out her parent's blessing for him to take their daughter's hand in marriage, Mitch's engagement ring was removed, and his promise ring from his teenage years, resized once again, took its place. Rosalie never noticed the difference until she returned home crying, and demanded to see what was on her father's finger if it wasn't the ring that was now placed on hers. They were foreign, yet familiar all at once. She cried even more, and wouldn't let go of Mitch's leathery hands after he told her, 'when I die, take it, and you'll possess the two Grassi-Hoying heirlooms'.

Mitch hadn't stopped crying. Both his parents were lost at once. They were old, but not quite there yet. His tears slid down Scott's aging skin, as he clutched his lifeline to his chest. Pressing kisses to the skin he knew better than himself.

Tears were more frequent as they aged. Happy and sad. They both cried with their hands intertwined, as they watched their beautiful daughter wed after Scott gave her away. Rosalie insisted on both her dads, but Mitch refused, giving Scott the spotlight he'd courteously given up for Mitch over the years. He watched the only hands familiar to his life being clutched together, as his beautiful bride and husband waltz down the aisle, tears streaming along with the mesh fabric.

New hands were brought along, when Rosalie gave birth to twins, two beautiful little girls. Mischief and Mayhem, as Scott had nicknamed them. True to his word, the names stuck, and were creepily accurate. The two caused many more wrinkles to form, on both of them. Upon their faces and hands, from love and horror, but still, Mitch knew his husband's hands.

5 years later, Mitch sat anxiously tracing Kirstie's hands this time. Her wrinkles too foreign, and Mitch hated it. He found himself pushing Kirstie's loosening skin around, trying to form wrinkles that matched Scott's. He cried even harder when he realised his memory of Scott's skin may be all he has left. He survived that night. With a fixed valve in his heart, he was all as good as new. Both Scott and Mitch knew Mitch was holding his hand more often after that night.

They'd lasted 80 years together. A long time, but still not enough. Mitch lay in the bed, breathing shallow, and head bald. They stared into each other's just as bright brown and blue eyes. They were wrinkly and grey and too saggy for Mitch's liking. He lay, his breathing getting even shallower, movements slow, and far between. He released Scott's hand and clutched it again. The shock ran up and down his spine. The feeling never lessening. If anything, the feeling got stronger, as each day he found another reason to fall more in love with Scott. Scott's hand was, once again, clutched high on his chest, wet with tears from both he and Scott, as his fingers ran lazily over his skin, the more prominent wrinkles still engraved in his mind. His chest was steadily rising and falling, and his fingers were moving from muscle memory, and then they weren't.

Scott cried himself to sleep, clutching his daughter's hands to his chest, trying to physically alleviate the pain that lay there. But nothing worked. That pain stayed in his chest, longing for his loved one, until he died of a broken heart, a few days later.

Mitch finally understood why his mother and father held hands so often when he was a child. They refused to let go.


End file.
